The fading notes of youthful songs
Drift into the distance
Where fields of flowers are cast in shade
And their glowing petals sink and fray

Nothing that comes is worth its space
We are bombs that never go off
And winter comes earlier every year
It will, one day, never stop

Life preserves itself
In the face of mortality
It spins stories of afterlives
It is a genetic defense

Live earnestly and eagerly
There is little else to do
The songs of man will fade
And every art will die along